


Situations

by dettiot



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Spy!family reunion, as observed by Sark.  Future fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situations

It was really intolerable, the situations he found himself in lately.

Sark tried to shift as much as he could, to relieve some fo the pressure on his shoulders. When one was strung up by the arms, your feet barely touching the floor, even a moment's relief could make the difference later on. It wasn't just physical--the respite gave your mind a chance to focus, to think.

Of course, one would find that thinking was difficult with the company he was keeping.

"We need to find out where we are--we should call in."

"Marshall made my tie clip into a communicator . . ."

"What are you going to tell the CIA? 'Sorry, got kidnapped, come rescue us?'"

"Standard protocol dictates that agents make contact, whenever possible, in the event of capture or deviation from S.O.P.--"

"And we follow protocol at all times, do we, Jack?"

"I must say," he said, interrupting the babble of angry voices that surrounded him, "I never realized a family reunion could be so . . . entertaining."

"Shut up, Sark," Jack Bristow retorted. At the same moment, his daughter muttered something about Sark not knowing much about family reunions. Irina Derevko seemed too frustrated with her current predicament to respond, something that Sark could understand. Hopefully she was now planning a way to escape. Sark could only hope that she would take him with her.

When Irina had contacted him, it had seemed like a simple assignment: intercept two couriers en route from Paris to Istanbul, take the documents in their possession and leave them bound and gagged in their train compartment. After months on the run, always looking over his shoulder, the compensation Irina promised meant a few weeks of peace in an exotic destination, avoiding tourists and enjoying the best of the local food and drink.

He should have known better. Especially with the recent events in his life, nothing was ever simple. 

Discovering that Jack and Sydney Bristow were the couriers had been a surprise, one that made him consider aborting. But his ability to evade the Americans in the past had made him cocky, and he definitely found the idea of a fight with the younger Bristow appealing. But it had gone south faster than a bullet leaving a gun, with both agents pulling guns on him and a standoff ensuing. Then, he had been knocked unconscious by an unknown person--possibly Irina, he speculated--only to awake to find all four of them bound in identical positions. 

The two Bristows were muttering to themselves, and Sark couldn't resist needling them again, if only to distract himself from the pain lancing through his body. "Now, now, do share with the rest of the class, Agent Bristow," Sark said with a smirk.

"Surely you don't think I'm going to tell you anything, Mr. Sark," Jack said icily.

"Well, then, it would seem you have no desire to determine why we are here. Or to find a way to extricate ourselves from this situation."

"Yes, Jack," Irina spoke up. "Let's sulk and ignore each other, in the hopes that will free us. A brilliant strategy, just what I'd expect from you."

The glare that was directed at Irina made Sark wonder if Jack Bristow had some kind of cybernetic enhancement to allow his eyes to look like that.

"Dad, they're right," Sydney said in a low voice. "Even though we both know how much I hate to admit it," she said, looking both disdainful and untrusting.

"That's right, Sydney," Sark said. "Play well with everyone."

"Have you regressed to kindergarten, Sark? Knock it off, and tell us what you were doing on that train," Sydney snapped.

"Looking for you, actually. Or, at least for the information you were carrying. It must be very popular, the intel you were carrying on the Orient Express, to explain both my presence and our captor's interest in the situation." Sark paused, and tilted his head to one side. "The utter triteness of the method of transporation greatly amused me. Did you or your father request to travel in that manner?"

"Focus, Sark," Sydney said in a bored voice. "Fine, we know why you were there."

"I am curious about how I was knocked unconscious--or at least who did that."

"You can thank my mother for that, Sark," Sydney said. "You got pistol-whipped, much to my delighted surprise."

The three of them looked at Irina, who seemed to be in a meditative state. Her lack of attention drew a cough from Jack, and Irina started. "What?"

"I believe it's your turn for Show and Tell, Irina," Sark remarked dryly.

Before she could speak, though, a loud metallic clang reverberated through the room. Then, a door opened, throwing a blinding light into their eyes. When Sark recovered his eyesight, he recognized the man walking towards them. "Simon Walker, as I live and breathe."

"Indeed, Mr. Sark." His former colleague strolled about the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He paused in front of Sydney, whose face was an expressionless mask. "What, no kiss, love?" Simon asked with a leer.

Sydney's face dissolved into a less-potent version of her father's glare, but Simon merely grinned at her, and moved on to her father. "Bet you wish you had made sure I was dead, right?" Simon said. "Not that I'm not thankful. Otherwise I wouldn't be here today, looking forward to a very big paycheck for bringing in the four of you, plus the money I'll get when I sell the intel you were carrying."

"I believe that intel is mine, Walker," Sark said nonchalently.

"Sorry, old boy--no honor among thieves. Don't suppose you'd tell me who hired you and how much they were offering?" 

Sark merely raised an eyebrow, and Simon shrugged his shoulders. "Was worth a try. Anyway," he said, moving back to the doorway, "my employer will be with you shortly. Cheers." With that, he left.

"Such a pompous, slimy weasel," Irina commented. "He'll go far."

"You'd know," Jack muttered.

Irina sighed heavily. "Jack, I would say we're past the petty insults stage." She wriggled her arms some and said, "I might be able to reach a hairpin . . ."

"Oh, how ingenious!" Jack barked. "A hairpin to pick locks! Talk about utter triteness."

"It's a classic because it works," Irina retorted, before she began pulling herself up to bring her head closer to her hands.

Jack grunted but didn't say anything. Sark found himself rolling his eyes, and he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Sydney was doing the same. He couldn't help grinning, and after a moment, she smiled back. "Somehow, I don't think they're past petty insults," he muttered to her.

"You should have seen them on the first mission we went on together," Sydney muttered back. "I don't know how people put up with their parents when they act like that."

Sark nodded, his lips still quirked in a smile. "Indeed." 

Sydney looked around, taking in their surroundings. Sark took this opportunity to enjoy the sight of her, something that always gave pleasure no matter the circumstances. Anyone who looked at Sydney Bristow would pause for a second look--her lithe physique and attractive face was enough for that. But your attention was held by the lift of her chin, the intelligence in her eyes, the quirk of humor in her mouth. It was those things, more than her face and body, that always drew his attention.

A small gasp of surprise drew him from his thoughts, and he saw that Irina was now free of their bonds. She held a hairpin aloft, a gleeful expression that expressed more than words could directed towards her former husband. With that, she dropped the pin and headed to the doorway.

"Irina, aren't you forgetting something?" Sark called out after her. 

"What, like freeing you?" she asked.

"Yes, that seems right," he agreed, pulling on his chains in anticipation.

Irina turned around and stepped towards him. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's not in the plan."

He had to admit, he hadn't forseen that. "What is the plan, then?" he asked dryly.

"Well, I'm sure your captor will let you go shortly, now that I'm gone. I was what they wanted, you see."

Sark knew he must have a quizzical look on his face, and found he couldn't help asking one of the many questions that crowded his head. "How do you know our captor will let us go?"

"Because I'm the one who's holding you," Irina said with a delighted smirk. 

"What?" proclaimed Jack and Sydney in unison. Sark was speechless, as usual, when it came to Irina.

She smiled softly. "It's like Sark said," she replied, turning towards them. "It's a family reunion." She stepped towards Sydney, and placed a light kiss on her cheek. "It was good to see you again, darling." 

Sydney didn't seem to know what to make of this, and seemed to settle for merely nodding at Irina. 

The older woman then turned, and briefly kissed her former husband. She whispered something in his ear, before pulling away and exiting the room.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the clinking of their chains as they shifted. "Well, that was unexpected, even for Irina," Sark said.

"I don't know why I get surprised by her, since I keep trying to not expect anything from her," Sydney said in a tired voice. 

It was that tired note in her voice that stuck with him, even as Walker came back in and released them. It remained in his thoughts as he left the building, and went back to work, back to running.

It stuck with him because she sounded like the way he felt. And he wondered, yet again, why the connection between himself and Sydney Bristow was so obvious to him . . . and so unclear to her. And if there was ever a chance that their two different perspectives might become more similiar. 

Maybe it was time they got past the petty insults stage, too.

End.


End file.
